


A different kind of howler

by Flutterwacken



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1920's, Prohibition, This was mostly to get a better feel for them, Underground Fighting Ring, Writing Exercise, mafia, mobster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9498518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flutterwacken/pseuds/Flutterwacken
Summary: Brian Snyder is the boss of an underground fighting ring who just broke his one and only rule. Never miss a fight. To make things worse half of his moonshine was done in by detectives, and rival gangs were encroaching even more on his slim share. After one of the worst day's he's had in years, Brian decides to take it out on one of his prized fighters, the Wulf of the rings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The utterly perfect art was done by NanoColors on deviantart, please be sure to look at their page!  
> http://nanocolors.deviantart.com/

  
  


If a day could get worse Brian sure hoped he’d never live to see it. He sighed and pushed the hair from his eyes. It was time for a trim. Something else he’d planned to do before things got hairy. It was always the fault of those damned detectives.  
  
Brian’s shoes tapped against the concrete as he waked through the main room of the rings. The fights were over and the bodies from the death matches had already been drug away.  
  
It was the first time he’d missed one of his matches in over twenty years.  
  
The red of the brick walls hid the blood spatters, though they still shimmered in the lanterns dusky yellow glow. Another reminder of the fun and profits that had gone on without him. Just like the job would. Brian’s lip raised in a silent snarl. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He paused to inspect the red hue of the dirt that made the floor of the ring. It was almost soggy with the stuff. A smile replaced his expression. The fishes would be eating good for sure.  
  
It was hard work balancing the fights, booze, and Santones day after day. Men were hard to find, and keeping other gangs off his turf was beginning to be more trouble than it was worth. The Santones were always sending him letters when they’d hear about any red haired ninny who made the news. Telegram was too risky. Every time he’d have to reply, scratching out the same words he had for the last ten years.  
  
“Still in the ground.”  
  
The thick brick walls of the underground were always a welcomed sight after coming back from the city. Nine barrels of moonshine made a pretty penny, but not enough. Brian absentmindedly wondered if he could sell some to the shining solitaire lounge as he unlocked his door. He’d have sold more if it wasn’t for Ryan sitting on the hood of his car taking a smoke. The bastard and co were probably drinking the other six at the very moment.  
  
At least Brian was welcomed with a heavenly sight when his door opened.  
  
The night’s earnings were piled high on his desk in the center of the room, and only grew as Brian pulled three huge wads of cash from his pocket. It was a dark office, lit by the only real window the cesspit of a business had. Furniture was scarce, a couch pulled from a house he’d destroyed sat quietly against a far wall. A few pictures hung as well. Moonlight filtered in, casting long shadows onto Brian’s prized possession. An old oak record player, with a polished horn he could see his reflection in. His fingers brushed against the record. The man in the copper mirror looked tired. Brian reached up to touch his hair. It was definitely time for a trim.  
  
Brian didn’t bother turning it on. Even though the music would be a wonderful distraction, he had work to do. The creaky chair at his desk was as uncomfortable as the numbers in front of him. Sure the pile of dough would make any lawful citizen weep but Brian was a businessman, and every businessman knew it took money to make money.  
  
Brian picked up his pen.  
  
“Seven divided by two…” he mumbled as numbers scratched themselves to life on the page. They were crossed out, mutilated by minuses, persecuted by percentages, desecrated by decimals. His grip tightened. Seven men slaughtered, fourteen fit to be fought. Six in sickbay--- and one who needed to be taught to knock.  
  
Brian closed his eyes and held back a snippy greeting. It wouldn’t do to run off his excuse to forget about numbers for a while. Suddenly the idea of a break didn’t seem so bad. He continued to scribble on the edges of his notes as he waited for the intruder to speak. The corner of his eyes caught movement that he chose to ignore.  
  
One of the fighters closed the door with a click. Brian instantly caught the whiff of sweat and dust from the ring. He sighed inwardly. That’s right, he needed to get the showers repaired. Another thing he forgot.  
  
Callahan let himself in and took a seat in front of his desk. Brian wasn’t sure if it was confidence, bravado, or plain stupidity. Usually the bastard would have the decency to be frightened. That was, unless he wanted something. Brian smiled and scooted back his chair before dropping his boots straight onto his desk. He leaned back and popped open his desk drawer and lit a smoke.  
  
Brian hummed as Callahan waited for him to speak. There was the fighter he knew.  
  
“Who’s afraid of the big bad Wulf~?” Brian sang under his breath. Smoke poured over his lips and drifted over towards Callahan who forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. One was black and blue and the other side wasn’t much better.  
  
Wulf was only good at two things, singing and killing. He knew it too, and for the last three fights had tried to convince him to strike a deal.  
  
“Four dead fighters,” Callahan answered. “Two from knives, one from blunt force, and the other from choking on his own vomit.”  
  
Brain laughed. “Damn! No wonder there’s so much dough!” He pulled out another cigar and handed it to the Wulf. “There’s your reward, and hey it’s your brand!”  
  
Wulf raised a brow as he accepted the “gift” hesitantly. Brain gave it a small shake to hurry him up. Couldn’t blame the bastard too much. After all half the gifts were usually drugged or an extra hour in the rings  
  
“Huff ‘N Puffs! Get it? The big bad Wolf?” Callahan blinked and gave him a look. Brian frowned and slapped at the air. “To hell with it, can’t even crack a joke. Don’t know why I bother, you’re too stupid to understand ‘em anyways.” He shrugged to himself “Then again who wouldn’t be after all that head-butting and shit.”  
  
Wulf didn’t fall for the bait and silenced himself with the cigar. Brian took note of the soured squint. He chuckled and tapped his lighter against the corner of his desk. It was just about empty, probably running on fumes. “Woops.” He grinned as it slipped from his fingers – just as Cal had made a move to borrow it. The lighter fell straight to the ground-and through the open floor vent.  
  
Brian grinned as Wulf’s eyes only squinted more.  
  
It was safe to say the papers were abandoned as Brian started the game. “Say, I was thinkin’… the Silvers aren’t making much anymore, and for once I can’t blame you assholes for rushing the fights.” Callahan’s squint suddenly ended as his brows rose. The poor bastard actually thought he was serious? “Yeah, the booze is helping and all, but we need something else. Something…” Brian waved his hand in the air, “bigger, makes people come in and stay a spell, spend their cash, wash down some moonshine.”    
  
Brain leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers together onto of his stomach. “Not showgirls,” he thought out loud. “Everyone’s got those…. hmm…” He gave Wulf a glance over. Even covered in bruises, cuts, and scrapes he looked good enough to bend over a table. Not that Brian would, he wasn’t stupid, the dog would bite his throat out the moment he’d reach over the table. “You got any ideas Wulf?”  
  
Cal opened his mouth to speak, and almost dropped the cigar. Brian laughed as he scrambled to catch it and stashed it away for later. How the hell he’d light it Brian didn’t bother thinking about. Wulf was creative, in the ring and out. If nothing else he’d probably steal one from another fighter.  
  
Brian shrugged, scowling as his brows pressed together. “Well? You going to be useful or just sit there all night?” It was hard not to grin. He leaned forward menacingly. The shadows of the room only heightened the glare of his eyes. He knew it’d terrify the dog. Another fine hobby of his. “Fine just go and waste my time, I’ll just call Johnson to come get you—“  
  
“No!” Wulf barked. He sunk into the chair as the boss snarled down at him. He knew full well what Brian would do when he was mad. A few of the knives were already sitting on his desk, gleaming with intent.  
  
“What did you say? You just tell me what to do Callahan?” Brian’s hand inched closer to the blades.  
  
“No sir, just-I know how you can bring in more cash. It’ll work too!”  
  
Brian plopped back down in his chair. It squawked in protest. “Well why didn’t you say so!” he beamed. “Come on then, let Snyder see what you got.”  
  
Callahan nervously glanced towards the record player.  
  
“Ooh, that’s what you meant…” Brian nodded as he thought it over. “Well…I guess, maybe plaster you on a few signs and see how it goes. Guess I’d have to pull you from the ring too, can’t get killed before a show. I know they say break a leg but that’d just be pathetic.” Brian chuckled at his own joke. “Blue’s won’t bring nobody though kid. You got anything else?”  
  
Callahan nodded and swallowed. He stood, pushing the chair away from the desk as he walked towards the window. The moonlight made a spotlight it seemed as it washed over him. Brian took in another sweet puff of his cigar. Santones were lookers and Callahan was a hell of a pedigree. He watched as Callahan’s fingers lifted the needle of the record player. When he finally put it back a new sound drifted through the room. It blocked out the muffled sound of the men below. Brian smiled behind the cigar. He knew this one, one of his favorites. The Wulf knew it too. He leaned back yet again and watched the show. Callahan gave him a worried glance that he waved off. He wouldn’t take insult to the lyrics. This time.  
  
Wulf closed his eyes and hummed along with the first few keys. His hand tapped on his hip as he found the rhythm. It was almost like he was playing the keys of the piano himself.  
  
“You made plenty money, 1922,” he started sweetly, voice quiet as he found his footing.  
  
“You let other rich men make a fool of you”  
  
“Why don't you do right, like some other guys do”  
  
Callahan’s head went back as the words drifted sweetly from his lips. His tapping fingers began to snap instead as he took a step towards the desk. Brian never was bored at these little shows the dog would howl for him. Callahan opened an eye and smiled at the boss with a wink.  
  
“Lets get out of here, I’ll make some money for you”  
  
Callahan took a few more, using the music to guide his movements as he sauntered up. He leaned against the desk with his hip as his hand sneaked out to touch the money. His fingers walked across the bills with his next line.

“You're sittin' there and wonderin' what it's all about”  
  
“If you ain't got no money, they will put you out”  
  
“Why don't you do right, like some other guys do?”  
  
Cal’s hand walked its way towards Brian as he sat on the edge of the desk. Brian eyed him. This was a first. Not that he was complaining. Much nicer change from the pleading.  
  
“Lets get out of here I’ll make some money for you

“Now if you had prepared twenty years ago”  
  
“You wouldn't be wanderin' now from door to door”  
  
“Why don't you do right, like some other guys do?”  
  
“Let’s get out of here I got some money for you”  
~~~~  
Brian sat back up in his chair as Wulf leaned over more. He grinned, wondering just how far he’d take his show. Callahan took a hold of his tie and threated it through his fingers before giving a tug. ~~~~  
  
“Let’s get out of here,” he sang as he pulled. Brian all but purred at the sudden change. Wulf leaned even close, and put his lips to his ear. “I’ll get some money for you”  
  
Brian frowned as Callahan suddenly let go of his tie. He sat back in his seat and watched as Wulf pulled away to perch back on the edge.

“Why don't you do right, like some other guys do”  
  
  
Brian closed his eyes happily at the last note. He knew how to hit a pitch like he did a man with a bat. “Damn,” he sighed, “That could work.”  
  
Wulf smiled nervously. The sudden bravado from his show long gone. “You think so boss?-Er of course it would.”  
  
“Yeah, I can see it now!” Brian stood and walked over to the record player. “We use you to bring them in, and then they get hooked into making some bets. Set you by the bar, I knew that empty spot in the corner’d be useful for something!”  
  
Callahan stood eagerly. “They’d hear the fights and get curious,” he added, “and with enough moonshine they’ll all but be dropping their cash everywhere!”  
  
Brian laughed and threw up his hands. Damned this was fun to give the poor bastard hope. “Exactly!” His face was light up with excited glee for this ‘new show.’ Suddenly his hands fell to his sides and he stopped the record. It made an ungodly screech that made Callahan jump.  
  
“You’re barking up the wrong tree.”  
  
Callahan’s face fell as the color drained. “Boss I know it’d work! Look, I can’t fight for much longer. The--“  
  
“I don’t give a damn!” Brain shot back angrily. “I’m you boss, and you’re job is to fight till you drop then use your useless corpse to feed the fishes in the bay! The Santones hear one peep out of you and this all goes down in flames!”  
  
  
Callahan’s fearful face changed rapidly to the dog from the pits. Before he could march up and deliver the punch that would have gone directly to Brian’s kisser, Johnson’s hand snatched his shoulder from out of the shadows. Callahan didn’t have a chance to utter a sound before a fist went crashing into his face.  
  
Snyder glared down at the fighter, and he glared right back.  
  
“Throw him in the rings again tomorrow. Let’s see if he’s willing to howl after that.”  
  
Johnson picked Wulf from the ground and drug him from the room.  
  
Brian sat back in his chair and picked up his pen. He didn’t bother holding back the laugh. That’d been fun.  
  
The numbers came easier as Brian hummed under his breath to the tune that no longer played.


End file.
